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Good enough to fuck,” I stated.
“Not good enough to love,” I accepted.
This man, smiling beside me, could break my heart any day. And I’d let him. That was the problem.
“You fucked me over,” I started, bleeding into the pain I felt for months. “You fucked me up. And yet, you come back every time. Why? Why do you insist on doing this to me?” His response may have been the most honest thing he’s ever said, and that terrified me.
In one breath, he shattered my soul. “You let me.”
You let me.
I was the firecracker. He lit the spark. I was the puppet. He was the puppeteer. I was the colour. He was the hue. He was the hue. My fucking hue.
Because whatever fire we had – It always turned to ash.
No matter how much I shivered and begged – Some things were just doomed from the start.
Yeah, that’s what he was. My sun. And I was his rain. I was his fucking rain.
I held her, memorizing the curve of her lips and outline of her hips. I held her because I could. Because in this moment, she needed me and I was able to right some wrongs. So, I held her, because a gnawing feeling told me this might be one of the last times I would.
One good friend was better than a thousand acquaintances.
people can only hurt you if you let them.”
